Smolder
by Emertheawesome
Summary: A dress. A ball. A man. A woman. Thank Merlin there's no time limit in this fairytale.


**Smolder **

~0~

_"Oh, well. What's a royal ball? After all, I suppose it would be frightfully dull, and-and-and boring, and-and completely... Completely wonderful."_

-Cinderella

~0~

_-and while I feel it might be prudent to justify my actions the previous day, I can't honestly produce a reasonable excuse as to why I attempted to hex you at the water cooler. Perhaps if you weren't such a bigoted GIT we could get along like any other reasonable pair of coworkers. Instead you have to SPOUT the most obscene comments from that filthy mouth of yours, and, dammit, this letter is not proceeding as planned._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione J. Granger_

_5th Floor Ministry_

_P. Expert_

Hermione took another look at her letter and sighed, crumpling it up and shoving it the corner of her cluttered desk. For the better part of the morning she had been focused on writing an appropriately apologetic letter to a certain Malfoy, coworker and unbearable tool. Perhaps for any other person it wouldn't have been such an ordeal, but Hermione just _could not _set aside her frustrations with the man. He was infuriating, obnoxious, and he just wouldn't leave her alone!

_Mr. Malfoy,_

_It relieves me to know that you were released from the ministry mediwitch only four and half hours after that unfortunate little accident with the hex. While it may have been deserved, it is completely unacceptable for me to lose control of my wand. In my defense, I expected you to be more prepared. Any OTHER wizard would have been easily able to deflect-_

Dammit.

Hermione glanced up as her the door to her office creaked open. The sound of wizzing paper planes and the faint rumble of some distant explosion entered with her visitor before he shut the door behind him and silence reigned.

"Harry," Hermione greeted sullenly.

"Still working on your letter?" Harry asked knowledgably, collapsing into the worn leather chair that she kept on the opposite side of her desk for shifty employees and the girls who cried over Draco. In hindsight, she should probably get rid of the chair.

"Unfortunately," Hermione replied, "I really don't think this... _accident_ constitutes an apology though."

Harry quirked an eyebrow, barely noticeably beneath his shaggy black hair. "Hermione. His hair was trying to strangle him for five hours."

"Four and a half."

"Poor Penny almost cried when it bit her."

"Well," Hermione sniffed, "she shouldn't have tried to get so close. I _warned _her."

"I don't think saying 'Touch his hair only if you want a love bite' is a very good warning."

"It worked for you." Hermione snipped.

"Yes, well, I don't fancy the bloke, do I?"

Hermione leaned back into her chair, crossed arms over her chest. "Well," she finally said, "at least we know how to reverse that spell, if necessary."

"Hermione," Harry sighed exasperatedly, "we would never need to reverse it if you hadn't _created_ it."

"Arthur sent you down here, didn't he."

"I'm not intending to scold-"

"Harry Potter-"

"-we still haven't figured out how to pacify that armor!-"

"-don't blame _me _for that one-"

"-you provoked him-"

"-oh, it's all my fault now, is it?-"

"-don't be daft, it takes two-"

"-I'M NOT APOLOGIZING!"

Hermione scowled ferociously, which Harry returned. Finally the frustration slid from Hermione like melted ice.

"I'm assuming you're going to see Malfoy next?"

Harry rubbed his temples in a _'why me?' _fashion. "Yes," he groaned. "And I doubt it will go any better than this."

Hermione smiled weakly. "I'm sorry, Harry. I don't understand why they always have you be the pacifier."

"Probably because I'm the only one who will attempt to approach you two when you're like this."

"The boy who lived," Hermione joked, "always so brave."

"Give me Voldermort any day," Harry replied dryly, though both winced at the mention of the dead dark lord's name. Despite the years, just some things refused to heal, and even simple words chafed.

"Well," murmured Hermione, "I won't keep you then."

"I almost wish you would."

Hermione laughed. "Would you like to stay? I could always use you as paper weight..."

"As delightful as that sounds..."

"...You must speak to Malfoy." Hermione finished for him.

"Unfortunately."

Harry stood to leave. His serene green eyes stared searchingly at her, a wry smile adorning his lips. "You know, he's not that bad..."

"Spare me, Harry," Hermione snorted, "maybe he's not that insufferable to you, but as soon as he catches a glimpse of me his inner git comes out."

Harry just shrugged and opened the door. The hectic noise of the Ministry burst in, and with a genial wave Harry slipped out, closing the door behind him tightly. In the silence Hermione slumped forward with a pathetic groan. Why couldn't work just be simple?

By the end of the day Hermione was cursed with a hammering headache and dry, itchy eyes. Beside the awful apology letter she was dealing with, the burden of a potions experiment gone wrong as well as some rampant baby screwts, who had been determined to crawl into her blouse and remain there indefinitely, had just zapped her of any energy she had left.

More than anything she wanted to settle down in a bubble bath with her most recent issue of _Charms Monthly _and partake in some cheap wine. Unfortunately she had a dinner date with the elusive Ginny Weasly, and there was no getting out of it. The youngest Weasley was home for only a few weeks before leaving again on her tour to appraise ancient castles and desolate forests for the growing wizarding community to live.

At about half past _'time to get spruced up, dear' _Hermione apparated into an alley a block away from the little grunge bar they planned to meet at. It was muggle, therefore they expected to not be interrupted by any wayward friends who happened to pass by. Or, even worse, boys.

Seeing she was the first one there, Hermione settled herself into a sticky corner after ordering a pint. She cast a quick, subtle cleansing charm, and waited for Ginny, who appeared only a scant few minutes later.

"Hermione!" The red head exclaimed, giving the older girl a quick peck on the cheek and a brief hug. "Let me get a drink." After a hurried flirt with the grizzly bartender, Ginny was back with a lager in hand.

"I feel like such a man," she laughed, staring pointedly at their determinedly unfeminine drinks. Hermione laughed.

"So," Hermione said, "how long are you going to be here? Harry didn't say."

Ginny rolled her eyes and muttered something along the lines of _'men!_' but smiled for Hermione. "A little longer than usual, actually. A few months. I have paperwork a fair bit of paperwork, and I think Harry is starting to feel a tad lonely."

Hermione nodded in understanding, and the two continued to chat about work and Harry and other nonsensical things. Hermione was feeling quite relaxed-on her second pint with easy conversation-when Ginny brought up Malfoy.

"So, Harry told me about the exciting events from yesterday."

"Oh?" Hermione replied nonchalantly before taking a swig.

"Don't play that game with me," Ginny scolded playfully, though seriousness immediately took it's turn. "When are you two going to get over this silly rivalry you have?"

"He's a git, Ginny."

"Well, of course he is, but if _Harry _can accept him, then I'm positive anyone can."

Hermione tensed. "Not anyone," she muttered.

Ginny frowned at the giant, purple troll that appeared in their conversation. "Oh, Hermione... you're not still thinking about _that,_ are you?"

"No," she replied flatly. "I'm completely over him."

Ginny glanced at her, disbelieving. "He asked after you the other day..."

"I don't care."

"Hermione..."

"I'd really rather not talk about this anymore."

Ginny frowned, but shrugged it off, instead steering the conversation into lighter waters.

Fuzzy minded, Hermione apparated home, a dark mood slumping her shoulders. She hadn't thought about Ron in weeks, but even the slightest mention of him could cast a shadow over the sunniest of days. Their relationship had been strong for a few years, but different goals and dreams had gotten in the way of it. It had ended in an explosive fight which saw him levitating all his stuff into the floo to the burrow. They hadn't spoken since, and it created a very strong strain on their mutual friendships.

Hermione sighed as she crawled into her wide, empty bed. Staring at the dark ceiling, she proceeded to list potent potion ingredients until sleep finally cast itself her way.

o o o o o o o

The following days blurred together in a mess of work, work, and more work. Hermione hadn't even realized how much time had passed until a sharp rap on the office door interrupted her reading. The person on the other side didn't wait for a reply, instead presumptuously stepping inside with a smirk.

"Malfoy," Hermione groaned. "I thought you would stay way longer than this."

Draco smirked handsomely, his angular face confident and smooth, his eyes a sharp gray and his hair a soft blond.

Hermione hated him for it.

"Granger, you should know I'm more tenacious than that. And your thoughts are rarely important to me anyway."

"Isn't that the truth," muttered Hermione.

Draco strode over to lean against the edge of her desk, arms cross and half his back facing her, which Hermione found awfully gutsy considering their last run in.

"I have work to do, you know," Hermione snapped grumpily, trying not to focus on the infuriating on the man's lovely, broad shoulders.

"Oh, come off it, love," Draco simpered sarcastically, "I've heard you've barely left the office in days. In the muggle world, I think they call these _interventions..."_

"Do you want medusa hair again?"

Draco fingered his short locks thoughtfully. "Despite the discomfort of almost being murdered by my own hair, I must thank you."

Hermione pursed her lips.

"Yes," Draco continued, "I think you finally drove off that dreadful Penny wench. Nice bum, but such an awful laugh I'd probably just end up sewing her pretty lips shut."

"Malfoy, you are a right prat."

"Oh, shush, darling. Don't deny she didn't irritate you just as much. I saw the looks you were giving her when she attempted to goose me."

"Malfoy..." Hermione growled warningly.

Draco smirked at her, reaching a hand out to tug on one of her wayward curls, which Hermione promptly slapped away.

"One of these days," Draco murmured, "you will admit your overwhelming true love and lust for me. Don't worry, love, I have been saving up leave-"

"Out! Out, out out!" Hermione shrieked, cheeks flushing a painful red. "I am _not _in love or lust with you, Malfoy. Now don't you have some work to do!"

Draco shrugged, but his sly grin just seemed to radiate smugness. "Of course, darl-"

"DON'T call me that!"

"-Granger."

Hermione proceeded to thump her forehead against her desk for several minutes of his departure, wondering why such a dashing bloke could be so bloody infuriating, and why he was so determined to drive her absolutely bonkers.

o o o o o o o o

"-and the hippopotamus said the minster, '_why, of course those are my ballet slippers!'"_

"Right, right," Hermione replied blankly. They were sitting in a quaint little wizard pub secluded between a muggle shoe shop and some restaurants. Hermione had agreed to meet one of her few female friends for drinks and 'girl talk,' as Ginny so bluntly put it.

Ginny gave the bushy haired woman a flat stare. "Alright," she finally said, "what's bothering you?"

Hermione blinked. "Oh, nothing, Ginny. I'm sorry, rude of me to blank out like that."

"I'll say," Ginny replied dryly, "but, really, what's got you in such a daze."

"Really, Ginny," Hermione protested, "it's nothing."

Ginny piteously. "It's about the upcoming function, isn't it."

"Excuse me?"

Ginny looked askance at Hermione, then proceeded to speak slowly, as though talking to a stubborn toddler. "The Ministry ball. I thought you would be upset about after what was in the paper today."

Immediately Hermione straitened. "The paper?"

Ginny suddenly flushed. "Oh-um-it was nothing. If you didn't see it, it's not that important."

But, like a bloodhound, Hermione's curiosity caught the scent, and she refused to let it slip. "What are you not telling me, Ginerva Weasley."

GInny scowled, "Don't call me that. Reminds me of my mum."

"You're avoiding my question."

With a put upon sigh, Ginny reached into purse and drew out a crinkled Post. "I really think it would be better if you didn't..."

Hermione snatched it, scanning the front page before turning to the next. It was the fifth page that caught her attention. Pasted across the top was a joyful picture of a certain red-headed ex and a former classmate. _'Has a War Hero Finally found True Love?' _the caption read, splayed beneath the picture of Ron and Lavender.

"Huh," Hermione said emotionlessly.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Ginny whispered helplessly.

Hermione frowned at the pity she heard in the youngest Weasley's voice. "Why? I don't mind. We've been over for months now."

"But they will be at the ball..."

"...And I won't, so why should it bother me?"

Ginny frowned. "No," she said firmly.

"Excuse me?"

"I said no," Ginny repeated. "I'm not going to let you hide in your flat because of something so silly. Don't be mad. You need to go."

"Ginny," Hermione said tentatively, slightly agog. "I probably wouldn't have gone anyway. Aside from that, I have nothing to wear, nor do I have a date."

"It's still a week away. We'll go shopping Sunday, after brunch with mum."

"I can't go single. Ginny, that's emotional suicide."

Ginny grinned. "Hermione, there are plenty of fit blokes in the ministry. Just _pick _one. It can't be that difficult."

"Alright for you to say," Hermione pouted, "you already have your own boy at hand."

Ginny snorted, shrugging. "It's not that. We'll find you a handsome man. It can't be that hard. In fact... what about Malfoy?"

Hermione almost spat her drink out on the table. Instead she settled for swallowing, followed by a rather embarrassing choking fit that caught the eye of far too many bar patrons.

"Merlin, Hermione," Ginny laughed, "it was just a suggestion!"

"Are you _mad?"_

"Well," Ginny reasoned, tapping her clean, sensible fingernails against the smooth grain of the table, "you two talk all the time. And he visits your office quite a bit, _and _the tension between you two is so _obvious."_

Hermione grumbled.

"Hermione, just imagine the kind of sex-"

"_GINNY_!"

"Alright, alright," Ginny pouted. "We'll find someone else. No need to get in such a snit."

Hermione slumped. "It's not that. It's... well what would a man like Malfoy want with me? I'm drab and bookish, and I'm always snapping at him, and everyone for that matter. I'm not the most agreeable of people."

"Oh, Hermione..." Ginny whispered, "how can you say that? It's so untrue..."

"Besides," Hermione continued, "I've heard Daphne Greengrass is single once again. I'm positive he will take her to the function."

Ginny just shook her head and sighed, moving on to other subjects that caused less tension between the two. Yet for the rest of the night Hermione couldn't get the vague picture of Draco Malfoy at the ball, wearing dress robes, and dancing with only her.

o o o o o o

The weekend went by in a flash of shopping, tea, and far too much activity for Hermione to recover from. She entered her office Monday morning bedraggled and hopeless, wondering now that she got a beautiful dress whether she could find a just as impressive man.

In all reality, Hermione did not hate Ron. She didn't even dislike him, or feel bitter anymore. The thought of him left a hollow, sentimental feeling in her chest, but nothing more than that. Yet, simultaneously, she could not go to the ball alone. It would inspire too much pity, as though she were still recovering from the split, and Hermione, more than anything, could not bear to be pitied.

It was with this in mind that Hermione scribbled out some memos, while her mind filed through all the eligible single men she could possibly ask.

There was Terry Boot-a sensible, man who worked in the curse research sector, but was also awfully boring.

Adrian Gerhardt, a German man who loved to quote poetry and never seemed to stop talking.

Dean worked in the PA department, but she had never been that close to him, and it could possibly be odd with him being Ginny's school ex.

Blaise Zabini was a definite negative, as she suspected he still upheld a certain pureblood ideal, despite how quiet he was about it.

And then there was Draco Malfoy, who was a _hell no_. If she even mentioned it to him she was positive he would laugh in her face and never let her live it down. No, Hermione preferred not to live the rest of her career in shame.

Which left her with a quandary and a half, and less than a week to fix it.

o o o o o o

Monday afternoon found Hermione in Draco's office, waving a sheaf of paper beneath his nose aggressively.

"I swear, Malfoy," she hissed, "if you don't sign these I will turn your insides-"

Draco waved a nonchalant hand. "Please, Granger, can't you wait your turn? I have a lot of petitions to peruse, and yours is by far _not_ the most pressing."

Hermione felt as though her blood would boil out of her skin in irritation. "But I can't work!"

Draco looked up from the file he had been reading, looking at her with a quirked eyebrow. "And that is such a bad thing, how...?"

Hermione took in a deep breath, letting it loose with Buddha-like patience. "Please, I really need to do something."

Draco sat back, his fingers linking across his tones waist, hidden beneath his suave suit. "Love, what you need to do is relax. Pamper yourself. Go to a salon. Get a message. Let _me _give you a massage-"

"_Malfoy_."

Draco shrugged. "Just a suggestion." He leaned forward again. "But I am serious when I say I am _not _going to sign those papers yet. You can just wait your turn, and what you do with your free time is completely up to you."

Her hands came up to rub her forehead. "You give me a headache," she bemoaned.

Suddenly Draco stood in a single fluid movement. Hermione, startled, frowned at him. "Well, love, let me take care of that then."

"Are you daft? What-"

But he had already maneuvered her around his desk, into his seat, with himself situated behind her.

"Malfoy-"

"Shush. I'm working on my karma."

And with that proclamation Draco's long, pianist fingers began to softly kneed her skull. Hermione's first reaction was to tense and jump, but he pushed her back down again, his fingers weaving patterns through her hair, down her neck, behind her ears. In a matter of minutes she slumped in the chair, giving way to the acute _bliss _that was Malfoy's hands. The headache faded like a bad dream, and in its place was a sense of lethargy as goose bumps ran up her arms at his coaxing touch.

It was just as a moan attempted to slip out of her lips that Hermione woke up. The thought flashed through her mind viciously-_'what the hell am I doing!'-_before she jumped up, bumping into the desk and almost knocking over a precarious stack of papers.

"Um, uh, I really have to go!"

Draco frowned, his eyes flat. "I thought you had nothing to do."

"I just remembered something." Hermione was backing around the desk as though facing down a rabid, cornered animal. Draco's grey eyes followed her intently, impassive. Her excuse, her escape, was more than weak, she knew, but she _needed to get out of there. _Because while he could touch and flirt so easily, so lightly, Hermione _couldn't. _Because every time he called her a pet name, or visited her office for no other reason than to bother her, or when he brushed a calloused hand across her arm, it made her think more and more of things that would never happen.

Draco Malfoy did not date muggle borns. He did not date bookish girls with wild hair and frumpy clothes. Draco Malfoy did not date Hermione Grangers. He dated Daphne Greengrass' who were up to date on all the new fashions and planned upper class parties and drank colorful, feminine drinks.

With one last startled glance, Hermione fled Draco's office.

o o o o o o

The rest of the week flew by in a tired haze. In a fit of desperation, Hermione ended up pleading with Dean to escort her as a friend. Luckily, his new girl was out of town, and he said he'd be more than willing to do it for the ministry work-a-holic-as long as she was wearing a sexy dress, of course. Hermione rolled her eyes playfully, but still thanked him profusely.

Saturday morning Hermione flooed to the Burrow, dress in one bag, brush in the other, and a ragged head of hair so tangled it looked as though a few threstrals could have taken nest.

"Merlin, Hermione!" Ginny gasped, sitting next to a stunned Mrs. Weasley at the kitchen table. "What did you _do?"_

"Nothing!" Hermione replied, voice ending in a screech, "it's just my hair!"

At that point Mrs. Weasley had collected herself, and stood with a no-nonsense clap of her hands. "Well, it's a blessing you came over early then, because it will surely take all day to manage this mess."

o o o o o o o

The ballroom was stunning. Magic induce sprites flitted from corner to ceiling, to hover playfully over the dance floor and tangle themselves in various witches coiffed curls. Hermione met Dean at the entrance. His eyes widened when he saw her, and he whistled appreciatively at the maroon dress that flowed down her figure like ocean waves. They danced twice, then separated. He to pillage a glass of champagne, and her to find the elusive Harry and Ginny.

This proved more difficult than expected, and Hermione gave up, choosing to rest in a darkened corner and attempt to relieve her sore feet. Ginny had forced a pair of strappy heels on her, and Hermione just couldn't adjust herself to them. They were difficult and Hermione kept having to remind herself that this affair was much too formal for her to take them off and prance about bare footed.

To take her mind off of her discomfort Hermione gazed at the dancers whirling gracefully across the smooth floor. It was achingly beautiful, and if Hermione was anyone else she would succumb to the fairytale glitter that seemed to enchant the entire hall. Instead, practicality forced its way in. Especially when she caught sight of Ron gazing lovingly at Lavender as they floated across the room.

"So, the bookworm ventures from her cave?"

Hermione froze, eyes narrowing as she turned to face her bane.

"Malfoy," she greeted in a clipped tone.

His brows raised slightly, and then he glanced at the couple that she had just been watching. "Still not over the Weasel, hm?"

Hermione sniffed. "I'm completely over him, thank you. Not that it's any of your business."

Draco just hummed thoughtfully. He stared at her for a long moment, enough to make her feel slightly awkward and ready to excuse herself, when he finally spoke up. "Would you care for a dance?"

Hermione twitched. "I don't know if-"

"Good," her interrupted, gently grasping her wrist and tugging her to the floor. At the edge herproperly arranged her subdued limbs: one arm on his trim shoulder, another cupped tenderly in his calloused hand.

How odd, she thought to herself, that his hands are rough. She always thought they would be smooth, well manicured, and pompous-rich boy hands.

And then his other hand was on her waist and they were drifting around the floor like all the other dancers. The soft cadence of music slipped between them and carried them, like a soft breath of wind, or the lilting fall of leaves in autumn.

"See?" Draco whispered, and Hermione somehow found that the tone is appropriate. "This is quite nice, isn't it?"

She managed to nod, her voice having deserted her, because his face was warm and close and lovely in the soft light of the delicate faeries.

"You know," he continued conversationally, "I feel as though I have been very patient."

Hermione tilted her head quizzically, and warning bells began to go off in the back of her head. "Where is your date, Malfoy?"

The smug smile he wore, if possible, grew more smug. "I didn't bring a date, Hermione."

The warning bells became a clatter, drowning out the music and murmurs of conversation and the presence of the crowded hall. "Why?" She asked breathlessly.

"I've been very patient," he whispered again, "and I'm not sure I can wait much longer."

"What are you on about?"

"Don't be daft." The hand that held hers transferred her grip to his neck, while he shifted so that both of his hands were on her waist. _'We look like lovers...' _she though vaguely. They were no longer moving, instead swaying together, bodies almost touching, teasing, but apart.

"I avoided you when you were with the Weasel," he murmured. "I bothered you when you two broke up. I befriended you when the months past. But it has been too long and you _still _deny me."

"I don't know what you mean."

"You're too smart. Don't be thick. You know _exactly _what I mean."

Hermione found her lungs did not want to listen to her. She was light headed, dizzy, euphoric, and angry. Because what he said made perfect sense, but she still couldn't wrap her head around it. All the times he visited her. Teased her. Touched her. Always subtly asking about her dating habits. What she did on the weekend. Watching her.

"I don't-I don't-"

"Don't what, Hermione? Don't believe that such a prat could like you? Don't believe a man other than the bloody Weasel exists? _What, Hermione?"_

Hermione sealed her lips. "I have to go." She pushed away from him gently, overwhelmed. Quickly she stalked towards the entrance, dodging dancers and barely pausing as a ghostly butler pushed one of the grand doors open for her. As the brisk night air hit her, Hermione ripped off her shoes, tripping barefoot down the granite steps.

She didn't reach the bottom though, as his hand wrapped around her wrist once again. She whipped to face him, staring into his furious gray eyes.

"Why are you running?"

And the simmering irritation, the bubbling desire, finally overflowed. "Are you _blind?" _She snapped. "Can you really be so _oblivious?"_

The rage leaked from his expression, leaving confusion as he blinked.

"I've been over Ron for _months, _you git! I don't understand why you are saying these things. You don't date Hermiones, you date pretty, delicate girls with pretty, wavy hair, and pretty eyes and-"

She was cut off by his lips, which in a last-ditch effort to shut her up, had covered her own. His fingers wrapped themselves in her locks, while his other arm wrapped around her waist, anchoring her to his body. Melting bliss overcame her. Ten times better than when he massaged her scalp. A thousand times better than when his hand brushed against hers. And a million times better than any harlequin romance had ever described.

When he released her he was breathing deeply, and she was gasping. "I don't want a pretty, delicate girl," he growled, "I want a beautiful, fiery girl. I don't want a girl with pretty, wavy hair, I want a woman with gorgeous wild hair, and if you ever suggest otherwise I will have to cut you off again."

Hermione gaped. "Well, then," she finally said. "If that's true, then I may just have to continue my rant."

"You minx," Draco smirked, and continued to mute her through the only way he knew how.

o o o o o o

Later on Hermione apologized for ditching Dean so early in the party. Luckily, he had spent so much time with a champagne bottle and a shared flask of firewhisky that he didn't mind too much, from what he remembered at least.

Ginny was irritated, having put so much time into getting Hermione dressed up for the ball and not seeing her out on the dance floor. Yet, when she flooed in the next morning to find two bodies huddled together in Hermione's bed, she quickly forgave her.

Harry, for the most part, wasn't surprised and said, "it's about time. I better not have any more complaints or ruined equipment forms turned into me about you two."

Draco and Hermione never recounted their time in Hogwarts, or the war, or their past relationships. They never spent time in sentimental musings or verbal trips into the past.

They were too busy making new memories, after all.

_~Once upon a time...~_


End file.
